The sudden shift set the nobles of the Kalozasa Dynasty on edge, and panic spread—inevitable, unstoppable.
Within the cortical fields of those living-metal aristocrats, more plasma molecules collided, relaying data at millisecond speed:
"Another Imperial strike has arrived. How do we withstand it?"
"None of the energy defense fields intercepted anything—what kind of warhead was that?!"
"By the Emperor, this war may have been a mistake. The Imperium has discovered our… rebellious act!"
"If we don't fight back, are we supposed to sit and watch that Ecclesiarchy fleet destroy Fanes? We have no choice!"
"We should've waited instead of counterattacking immediately. Once the Imperium learns Fanes is loyal, they'll stop."
"Idiot. Did you sleep too long in the public sepulcher and scramble your mind?!"
"Everyone—zzzt… the Æonic Orb's attack can't be stopped. That is already a declaration of war on the Imperium."
"Fanes, you fools—if you don't want to be annihilated, bring up new defenses now! Those damned things are about to land on our heads!"
Necron communication was faster than any human exchange.
Even as they argued, the nobles of the Kalozasa Dynasty still carried out their duties.
Defense systems forged from blackstone and special alloys were calibrated by Crypteks, immediately scanning the mysterious objects falling from the sky.
But the results only deepened their confusion.
Those things were completely harmless—unworthy of any defensive response.
The objects' full parameters were transmitted at once into the cortical fields of higher existences.
"P… parchment?"
Necrodermis Governor Zhabok received the same feed. He stared at the drifting shapes with open astonishment.
They were the things he knew best—the objects that had accompanied him night after night.
In truth, this was the method Eden had chosen for communication.
He used a mutated Hive Tyrant to slip into low orbit and, outside the reach of the energy defense fields, scatter parchment leaflets over the primary hive of the capital.
Plain. Unadorned. Almost insultingly simple.
Parchment was the Imperium's time-tested medium—easy to obtain, resistant to corrosion and interference. It carried information cleanly, reducing the distortions caused by the Warp and by hostile energy fields.
It also lowered the likelihood of rejection from a living-metal governor.
Eden's timing—and the manner of his intervention—was delicate enough to tug the event's trajectory back on course, preventing anger from continuing to boil over.
Once the parchment was confirmed nonthreatening, Zhabok and the dynasty's nobles finally loosened their figurative grip.
Some part of them even felt relief.
The Imperium's "new attack" hadn't come.
After that jolt of fear, the Necrons of the Kalozasa Dynasty were no longer quite so resolute about starting a war.
Deep within, their reverence for the Imperium sharpened again.
They allowed the parchment to fall, eager to learn what had happened.
Messages didn't appear out of nothing. Something had to have changed.
Hnnng—
The Æonic Orb's energies roiled harder, heat building upon heat as more stellar fragments gathered at the brink of release.
Zhabok and the dynasty's nobles looked up at the vaporous radiance bleeding from that apocalyptic relic, and a sliver of hesitation took root in many minds.
But in a scene like this, no one spoke.
Zhabok accepted a parchment leaflet from his royal guard and read the text.
The instant he received its contents, the eerie green light in his metal eye-sockets flared violently, and fresh ripples of energy burst through his cortical field.
It was a declaration, written in Imperial script.
It stated that the Archbishop of the Third Diocese had fallen to Chaos corruption and become a traitor.
That he had wantonly butchered Imperial civilized worlds, and that he had launched a monstrous invasion and bombardment against loyal Fanes.
Fortunately, the Rift Lord Chapter had discovered the archbishop's treason in time and, in the name of the Emperor and the Imperium's Emperor, had judged the archbishop and all heretics involved.
The blood of the traitors would serve as an offering to the loyal dead.
And now—having discovered the signs of assault on Fanes—the Rift Lord Chapter commanded the attackers to cease all operations at once, in the name of the Emperor and the Imperium's Emperor,
lest further tragedy be born.
In other words: a ruthless, shameless pass of the blame. The bombardment had been carried out by Chaos traitors of the Third Diocese, and had nothing to do with the Imperium at large.
Not only that—the Rift Lord Chapter had "set things right," executed the Chaos traitors, and avenged loyal Fanes.
How could anyone not be grateful?!
"Emperor… Fanes isn't heretical. That was a Chaos traitor's slander…"
Zhabok's electronic voice spilled with emotion.
Reading those lines, he felt an overwhelming relief—his shame and Fanes' humiliation had been washed clean. They were loyal still.
The necrodermis governor trembled, as if something heavy had been lifted at last.
At the same time, the nobles of the dynasty received the parchment's contents as well.
They erupted into debate—some doubting, others shouting that the attack on the Imperium had to stop immediately.
Countless gazes turned to the living-metal governor and phaeron upon the throne—the one who held the Kalozasa Dynasty's supreme protocol.
He would decide Fanes' final fate.
Zzzzt—
The Æonic Orb's firing sequence was at its final stage now. Even here, the heat could be felt. The stellar fragments hovered at the edge of detonation.
If it fired, the targeted Imperial warships—and everything around them—would be erased in a catastrophic strike.
"By the Emperor, we've already made one mistake because of a slandered accusation. We cannot allow more mistakes to continue!"
Necrodermis Governor Zhabok's will took precedence at last.
He activated the supreme protocol, seizing control from the Crypteks in a millisecond and briefly overriding their command of the apocalyptic relic—the Æonic Orb.
The firing itself could not be halted.
But the aim could be shifted, and the strike thereby blunted.
With a surge of heat, the weapon erupted. The atmosphere flashed, briefly lit like a wound of light, and then the stellar fragment tore into the void—an incandescent line of fire.
The trajectory had been displaced.
It would no longer deal meaningful harm to the Imperial fleet.
After the fragment launched, more concealed eyes across the planet tracked its flight. Bio-signals were transmitted back, and vast calculations were run through Tyranid brain-organisms.
Those were Eden's genestealers—his consciousness split across multiple fronts, functioning like a superlative surveillance machine.
He was doing everything possible to keep events from slipping fully beyond his control.
Perhaps that was what the Changer of Ways did: monitoring variables, nudging outcomes.
Only… the being did it on a scale more complex by orders of magnitude.
Eden confirmed the fragment's path and the Necrons' shift in posture, and the tension in his chest finally eased.
"Whew… The Crownless Phaeron is even more loyal to the Imperium than I thought. Plenty of planetary governors aren't as loyal as a xenos."
That result had always been within his projections.
After all, the life on this world had worshipped the Emperor for ages.
They had always believed themselves loyal.
Even when they rose to war, it was only because they wanted their world to survive.
And that phaeron—necrodermis governor—had served as a planetary governor for centuries, dutifully shouldering the Eleventh Tithe as if it were an honor.
In circumstances like that, so long as you didn't do what that bastard Frekbor did—label them xenos heretics and drive them to collapse—
rebellion was unlikely.
Now Eden had executed Frekbor, delivered words to clear the misunderstanding, and reaffirmed the Kalozasa Dynasty's loyalty and Fanes' loyalty.
This rebellion-war would most likely end, rather than bloom into something worse.
As expected, once Zhabok read the parchment, much of the anger drained away.
But that alone still wasn't the outcome Eden wanted.
Parchment could transmit words, but it could not fully earn a Necron's trust.
Once their emotions settled, deeper questions and suspicions would surface.
And more than that—Eden wanted something absolute: the Kalozasa Dynasty's complete loyalty to him, the Imperium's Emperor. Unreserved. Wholehearted.
That required more than logic.
It required emotion—something to stir the reverence and loyalty already rooted deep inside them.
Eden used the Librarius to send new orders to Anselmor aboard the Preacher, instructing them to come assist with Fanes' defense and relief.
Then he waited, quietly, for events to unfold.
The arrangements he had made were about to take effect. If all went as intended, they would produce exactly the result he wanted.
In the throne sector, Zhabok and the dynasty's nobles stared into space, waiting to see the outcome of the Æonic Orb's shot.
They did not want Imperial warships harmed.
Fortunately, the stellar fragment passed beyond the fleet and struck a barren asteroid. Violent energy bloomed, magma churning in a convulsive surge.
From Fanes, it looked as if a second sun had appeared in the heavens.
The planet's temperature would rise for a time, but the released energy would cool quickly.
It wouldn't cause too much lasting impact.
When the Æonic Orb's firing ended, Zhabok and the nobles of the Kalozasa Dynasty fell into a strained calm.
They began to consider how they would face what came next—and how they would account for all this to the Imperium.
"Could this be a trap by the Third Diocese fleet?" a Necron Overlord suddenly voiced the doubt.
In the void, the Third Diocese fleet had regrouped and was once more approaching Fanes.
Perhaps they had used a lie to buy time.
If that fleet resumed its attack—or simply waited for greater Imperial forces to arrive—
what then?
The parchment's declaration had extinguished fury, but it had not created certainty. A single mistaken judgment could become a new catastrophe.
The survival of Fanes was at stake. Caution was mandatory.
No matter what promises the so-called Rift Lord Chapter made, the trust-fracture caused by bombardment was not something that vanished overnight.
Then the Cryptek overseer delivered another urgent report:
"Power signatures are rising at the edge of the Fanes system—abnormally intense fluctuations. A vast number of unknown bodies are moving toward this system.
They may be an Imperial fleet on a massive scale."
Signal analysis matched Imperial warship parameters. Only the Imperium could mobilize something like this.
"So the parchment proclamation really was an Imperial lie?!"
"The facts are in front of us. The Imperium has never contacted or trusted this world. Now they send an armada to our doorstep.
We must preserve Fanes through war!"
That news reignited the nobles' vigilance and doubt—especially among the hawks.
Any intelligent life, seeing so many warships converge on its home system, would assume a planned attack.
No one dared wager their world on a hopeful interpretation.
"Emperor… grant me a sign. Tell us what the Imperium truly intends for Fanes…"
Zhabok sat upon the throne, wavering.
Fanes was under invasion by xenos and daemons, and only by awakening and summoning tomb forces from the collapse zones had they barely held the line.
Across hive cities and continents, defensive wars raged.
If that incoming Imperial armada carried annihilation, then he needed to act now.
Perhaps he could use the Æonic Orb to strike the system's outer star—spill a vast storm of energy and block the Imperial fleet from entry.
That was the dreadful legacy of the Kalozasa Dynasty—fighting off xenos and heretics while also nearly destroying the Third Diocese fleet, and now even contemplating engineering a stellar catastrophe to delay an Imperial armada.
Yet because their memories were wrong—because they still saw themselves as human—they did not truly grasp how much power they held.
As the Crownless Phaeron brooded, doubt and hostility spread again through the nobles' cortical fields.
Their trust in the Imperium began to wobble.
Eden couldn't monitor the throne sector directly—but he could guess how it looked.
Still, he wasn't too worried.
Palace officials were rushing this way, bringing with them a new turning point—a way to rebuild trust.
He'd gone to great trouble to find the buried information that could save the situation.
And even if the plan failed, he had armed responses ready.
"My lord!"
Just as the necrodermis governor's mind began to tilt toward war again, the Master of Whispers arrived from the court and shattered his reverie.
The Master of Whispers waved an envelope in his hand, voice trembling with excitement.
Tears streamed down his face; his feet were slick with blood—he had forced himself to run here at any cost, just to deliver this humiliation-cleansing letter to the governor at the earliest possible moment.
"Emperor above—
No, my lord—my honored lord.
Fanes cannot possibly be heretical. Look—look at this! We have received a letter from Holy Terra.
Yes—this is a letter from Holy Terra!
Our astropaths received a psychic transmission from the astropathic choir on Holy Terra. They cross-verified it, and then wrote it down, stroke by stroke.
It is a reply of loyalty and honor—a personal letter from the High Lords, and from the Imperium's Emperor himself.
The Emperor's living voice has personally answered the letter you sent all those years ago!"
"What?!"
Zhabok surged to his feet from the throne, and even the dynasty's nobles were shaken.
When Fanes' economy had recovered, he truly had sent a letter to Holy Terra—proudly detailing this world's situation, offering to provide even more of the Eleventh Tithe.
He had treated it as an honor, and even held a grand banquet for the occasion.
So the nobles, and certain court officials who had undergone rejuvenat treatments, still remembered it.
For many years afterward, Fanes had waited for a response from Terra's administrative organs.
Ten years. Fifty. One hundred. Two hundred.
They waited and waited—and received nothing, as if their words had sunk into a bottomless sea.
But now, Holy Terra had answered.
And not just answered: the High Lords, and the Imperium's Emperor himself, had replied in person.
Meaning—the current ruler of the Imperium, the supreme existence of the Senatorum Imperialis on Holy Terra, the Emperor's living voice—had personally read Fanes' letter and returned an answer.
It was like a petty lord on the farthest edge of the galaxy suddenly receiving a personal response from the Imperium's ruler—normally, that lord and his star-sector wouldn't even be known.
In this moment, every mind present held only one thought:
What glory.
And more importantly, the rumors of Fanes' rebellion evaporated into nothing. A world that had received the Imperium's Emperor's own reply—how could it possibly be traitorous?
"Emperor above!"
Zhabok did not dare delay. He hurried down from the towering throne, lowering his head as he reverently accepted the letter, fragrant with sacred oils.
Clearly, Fanes' astropaths had completed the transcription amid offerings and worship.
He restrained his trembling necrodermis hand and slowly opened the letter from the Imperium's Emperor—
(End of Chapter)
[Get +30 Extra Chapters On — P@tr3on "Zaelum"]
[Every 300 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter Drop]
[Thanks for Reading!]